


Reconnaissance

by Branwen_Merla



Series: Loki's Adventures on Midgard [2]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Loki - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Illusions, Magic, Memories, Metaphors, Mystery, Repressed Memories, Secret Identity, Secrets, Spying, hints - Freeform, power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branwen_Merla/pseuds/Branwen_Merla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki represses his memories as a 'friend' from the past tries to hint at her return. Will he remember and finally uncover her big secret?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnaissance

**Author's Note:**

> I read my first story to my mother, and her exact words were: "YOU CAN'T END IT LIKE THAT!!!"  
> So, this 'happy ending' story is for her.
> 
> Sorry about all the jumping about with tenses etc.

“You are charged with high treason. How do you plead?

“High treason?! On what grounds?”

“Two counts of disobedience, interference upon the earthly plane, cavorting, multiple counts of murdering lesser creatures-”

“Come on, that wasn’t me! That was the Sins!”

“-which _you_ released.”

“Continue reading the charges, Councillor.”

“And the most severe: one count of involving an Asgardian in your escapade.”

Whispered words and judging looks echoed from the surrounding members of the clouded courtroom.

“Oh, that.”

“I find you guilty and to be sentenced to death.”

“Mother? Father?” She begged her parents, with pleading eyes.

Before the gavel descended to indicate the conclusion of the trial, the woman’s mother stood from her seat. Her wild, yet silky brown hair resting beautifully amongst the deer antlers and leaves she adorned, swayed slightly with her sudden movement, resembling spiders webs in a breeze. “Wait! Surely there is another way?”

The grey-haired, bearded judge looked at the mother, much like a father looking at his daughter, with kindness and love in his eyes. He turned his harsh gaze upon the woman on the stand once again.

“As you are the daughter of my daughter, I shall show compassion and leniency. I will allow you to choose your fate.”

“What are the choices?”

“Be put to death, live on earth as a human – in every sense of the word, or undertake one last mission whilst hindered.”

“What is the mission…?”

**

The flickering light of the large over-hanging chandelier brings Odin out of his musing and back to reality. He had taken a small amount of time out of the day, as he had done on occasion, to reminisce about the time he spent on Midgard with his lovely, yet missing, black-haired companion. It had been many a millennia since the night she seemingly died, yet he could not forget her smile and the twinkle of mischief that always seemed present in her amethyst ringed, emerald green eyes – especially when she teased and toyed with him. His logical brain insisted she were, in fact, dead – as he had seen it with his own eyes, yet his gut told him there was something unnatural and obviously magical about the white light that claimed her body and even pierced the scrying pools water, shattering his marble basin. He had returned a few times to Midgard to search for her, but his efforts always resulted in nothing and, after a year or so, he allowed himself to listen to logic, quelling any lingering feelings of doubt he may have had.

With his final memory now locked securely away, his one bright, blue eye sharpened and refocused unto the golden-armoured man addressing him, bowing ever so slightly.  

“Speak.”

“The city is in a state of confusion. Many claim to have seen a shadow before slipping into unconsciousness.”

“Any casualties?”

“No, it takes only food and does not harm the civilians.”

“Whom was the last person?”

“The gardener, eating bread.”

“Here, in the palace gardens?”

“Yes.”

Odin stands, leaning on his staff as if he were of ill health, age apparent on his wrinkled face.

“Allfather, permission to speak?”

“Granted.”

“Although it is within the palace grounds, I implore you to take a guard. They may be targeting you, as they seem to be making their way up the ranks.”

“You think the mighty Odin cannot protect himself?!” He bellows, loud enough to make some of the marble quake.

Before the guard could open his mouth to reply, a soft chuckle echoed throughout the room, obviously finding what he said to be hilarious. The guard raised his halberd to protect his king, as the king himself seemed to be lost in his thoughts once again. The voice in his mind was so vivid, as if it were right by his ear.

_“…if you were human, I’d have wondered if Pride had influenced you already.”_

“Silence!”

He had been ruling successfully since he took the throne, so why would he begin to waver now? Did sealing his memories away, somehow crack the barrier in his head? Realising he had said that out loud, Odin clears his throat and waves his hand dismissively. The guard bows once more and retreats through the exit, as Odin looks around the perimeter of the large marbled throne room, peering into any shadows that may house the hidden intruder. As he surveys, he berates himself with a frown. He’s going soft, getting sentimental. This was not like him at all, is the loss of the only two women he cared for making him crazy?

No. The laughter was there. The guard heard it.

*

Rumours quickly spread of The Allfather, fast and vicious, bearing words that he is ill of health and mind.

“Father, what is this I hear about you going senile?” The blonde man strides forward with haste, red cape billowing behind him as his silver amour clinks with his movement.

Odin keeps his eye straight ahead as he continues down the corridor toward the garden, “Don’t be absurd, boy.”

“You are looking haggard, old man. You have been ruling the kingdom without break since mother died, perhaps you should rest.”

“I will rest when I’m dead.”

_“…Loki…”_

Odin’s feet stop. Did he hear a whispered voice just now? A soft breeze ruffles the leaves of a nearby tree, as raven feathers flit across his field of vision.

“What is it, father?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. It was obviously the wind, and those raven feathers are those of his own pets, he convinces himself successfully.

Unable to talk more about his father’s failing health, Thor lays a hand on his shoulder, smiles, then takes his leave. Odin smiles faintly, before catching himself and rolls his uncovered eye instead as he watches his son walk away. His son… why did that sentence feel so _wrong_?

Beginning to turn around to continue down the path, his eye is caught on a small mark, carefully chiselled onto the bark of a tree. Tilting his head slightly, he steps toward it and reaches out, tracing a calloused finger over the intricate design.

 _That_ design. Where has he seen it? Why does it look so familiar and feel so nostalgic?

A blurry memory of silhouettes dancing, her hand in his, and the golden imagery painted on her nails flit across his mind.

The small arrow nestled in the taught string of a crescent bow. But how did it get here? Who were those dancing people? If one were him, then who was the woman he was dancing with? Why does this feel so important? What is he forgetting?

A guard addresses him, redrawing his focus. Shaking his head absently, he continues on, unbeknownst to him a black hooded figure with narrowed golden eyes is watching him from the shadows.

**

_“What is the mission…?”_

_“It has come to our attention, there are rumours of an imposter on the throne of Asgard.”_

_She swallows uneasily, “An imposter, you say? Whatever do you mean?”_

_“It is said that Odin is making decisions unlike himself and is acting out of character. We are aware of your abilities and what you use them for, therefore, your mission will be reconnaissance. Gather information and report directly to us. Your punishment, however, is twofold. If you get caught, we will not acknowledge you. And you must do so, imprisoned.”_

_“What?! But if you know of my talents, you know that I must have certain freedom!”_

_“This, mortal, or death.”_

_“Well, I’ve always loved a challenge.”_

 

Branwen sighs as she holds up both her wrists. The golden shackles and chains gleam briefly before disappearing once again. A sly grin spread across her face. Of course she would accept this assignment, she has her own agenda, after all.

**

_“…Loki.”_

A light yet taunting tone rips him from of his meditative state, as girlish giggles echo throughout the large, empty room.

“ _You’re thinking so seriously about this, it’s cute_.”

That voice, and that name. He has not heard that name for several decades… why is he suddenly thinking about the Midgardian custom of Halloween?

A blurred vision flickers in front of his eyes yet again. A woman is wearing an adaptation of a witches costume yet he cannot see her face, and he… he is wearing a green and black cloak with a high collar, a puffy white dress shirt, and fake teeth - strange for an older man with a greying beard. No, this isn’t right. All his memories are him as Odin, perhaps he has been in the mindset for too long and has fooled himself into believing he is The Allfather, not the handsome black-haired man that he actually is.

Struggling to settle his thoughts, he falters as he realises a gap in his memory. No - not a gap, a vault. A locked vault.

Pushing past an invisible barrier once again, he sees a black cloaked woman squatting in front of the metaphorical lock, moving her hands swiftly and precisely.

“Wait, stop!” He cries, sensing danger in the large metal box, but it is too late.

There is a final click as the lock swings open and falls to the floor with the successful lock pick. Pain pulses from his head down to his toes, like that of the wave of darkness that once encompassed the Earth. His illusion shatters as he slumps to the floor, his true self once again. Seeing the flickering of green, Loki raises his face.

“I looked for you.” He whispers to the illusion his subconscious had created, emerald eyes threatening to spill the tears that gather, “I don’t want these memories, it has been too long.”

 _“You need to remember, Loki. Didn’t you have fun? Didn’t_ we _have fun?”_

Feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle, the illusion disperses as he stands at the ready – someone is watching him.

“Show yourself!” He strains his ears, yet hears nothing, not even a pin drop in the silence that seems to envelop and strangle him. Running from the room, as if trying to run away from his madness and memories, he reaches a heavy wooden door and opens it with a forceful bang. Anywhere is better than there he thinks, before noticing he had entered the prison. His old cell which he thought was empty, now has a black cloaked woman with black hair, huddled in the corner. Feeling penetrating eyes on her, she turns. It’s not her. Why would it be? She’s dead, not a prisoner. He quietly berates himself as he smirks self-deprecatingly, creating his Odin illusion once again, he leaves the woman and the dungeon behind him.

**

_“If you try to escape or intervene with your mission as you have done so in the past, or even merely mention your imprisonment, the shackles will constrict and kill you, beheading and slicing each place bound.”_

 

She sighs. She knew Loki could be slow sometimes, but come now. How obvious must she be? Must she hound him night and day? Has it really been that long since she had returned? With a click of her fingers, the woman in the cell dissipated. She knew of the loophole in what her grandfather had said. Mention meant words. With her abilities, she needn’t speak… that is, if Loki would only pick up on the hints she had been leaving.

**

Day after day, night after night, he is haunted by her laugh and the memories that had tumbled through the now open vault in his mind.

The time they first met, and Waltzed… “ _You certainly know how to dance.”_

The study period in the library… _“So tell me mister handsome stranger…”_

The first time his illusion failed on her… _“You know, stalking is a serious crime…”_

The curious cursed gem… _“Hey buddy, my eyes are up here.”_

The first, but not last, time he got in the way… _“What, no goodbye?”_

The time she punched him… _“I didn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.”_ Remembering, he rubbed his cheek slightly with a smile.

When he first felt jealous… _“First mistake – I’m not a damsel.”_

Their first meal together… _“You can get your own damn food.”_

Her suspiciously fast healing… _“I got better.”_

The burlesque bar… _“I think… thou protests too much.”_ Remembering this, Loki feels a rush of excitement as he shuffles in his marbled throne and clears his throat.

His first Halloween… _“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”_

Her teasing… _“Is the God of Trickery and Mischief afraid?”_

_“You’re so adorable when you pout!”_

_“Did I hurt you, princess?”_

The bluff… _“Prove it.”_ That could have turned into an entertaining evening. His thoughts begin to drift as he shuffles once again and tries to focus.

 _“Humans aren’t my favourite toy – you are.”_ Did she ever care for him? Or was she just using him as a plaything?

 _“You think I’m joking? What if I wasn’t?”_ The heat and seriousness of her gaze… somewhere deep down, he knew she wasn’t joking. If he had acted then and there, would the end result had still been the same?

 _“…It’s been fun.”_ The sadness in her voice… the final goodbye… why didn’t he notice? He _did_ notice. He just wanted to ignore the feeling of uneasiness and pretend nothing would happen. He shouldn’t of done that, why did he do that? Was it because of all those strange coincidences that seemed to follow her? Coincidences….

 

He widens his eyes. Is this why he had to remember? To see the bigger picture? All of the pieces of the puzzle seem to fall into place. Rising suddenly, he rushes past the guards and into the library as if full of purpose, full of life once again.

His hands slide from one book to another. The memory of her Grecian urn, her oddly coloured eyes, the way they shift from green to gold, the mysterious glint in them when he asks about her life, and even the muttered words beneath her breath…

“ _I may live on Earth, but do not think for one moment, I am one of them._ ”

Why is he only hearing them clearly, now? His hand stops on an orange leather-bound book with gold writing, labelled ‘Greek Gods, Myths, and Legends’. Taking it from the shelf, he remembers the story she had once told him about her parents, and the meaning behind the clasp of her cloak.

Studying intently as he flicks through the pages, an illusion flickers at the table next to him.

_“What riveting literary adventure are you on this time, Loki?”_

“I’m seeing if my suspicions about you were true.”

 _“Oh?”_ He _knows_ she is grinning at him like she always used to. “ _And what suspicions are those?”_

“You know very well, don’t try to hide it now.”

 _“I would never!”_ Sarcasm. Always the one for sarcasm.

“You almost threw me. Especially in the beginning, with that empty bottle.”

_“And that thing with Lust.”_

“Yes, and the thing with… ah.” He finally looks up from his book to the woman grinning at him, wearing nothing more than scraps of material. “Why are you wearing that?”

_“You’re the one who put me in it. Although, I’m pretty sure I was wearing more than this when I had to dance…”_

Clearing his throat, his eyes dart quickly back to the book in his hand, seconds before hearing a giggle which he assumes to be only from his illusion. Intently studying once again, his eyes grow wide at a certain passage. Slamming it down on the table the illusion once sat at, his grin is triumphant. “I _knew_ it!” he wanders off, practically skipping with joy, leaving the book open to the page of gods and their symbols and not noticing the sudden drop in temperature around the pale white hand of a woman picking up the book.

*

“We are going to war!” Odin announces to whomever may be in earshot of his bellowing roar.

 _“War? Isn’t that a bit rash?”_ The voice by his ear whispers, as he shoos it away with an armoured hand.

“War? Allfather, we are not under attack, and there seems to be no immediate threats.”

“You dare question me?!”

 _“Oi, don’t shoo me away like that! Seriously, if you wanted to see me so badly,_ open your eyes. _”_

Open his eyes? His eyes _are_ open.

_“Not literally, you dork.”_

“We are under attack!”

_“Well, then again…”_

A soldier runs into the room, causing all inside to turn. They hear the whistle of air before they see the glinting of steel, as the throwing daggers imbed themselves deep into the mans armour and flesh. The guards standing at attendance point their weapons at the entrance, willing to sacrifice themselves for their king. ‘Odin’ narrows his one good eye at the opening of the throne room, as an eerie hush envelops the city.  Without seeing or hearing any projectiles, some guards fall to the floor in crumpled heaps, whilst others stand unable to move and slowly turning blue, as if the blood in their veins and pumping throughout their bodies had been frozen.

Standing from his throne, ‘Odin’ bellows to whomever is targeting him. “Show yourself, Stranger!”

“Stranger? After all we have been through…” a familiar voice echoes throughout the silent chamber, this time, not in his head.

After all these years… but it cannot be her, can it? He thinks back to the book he had read only days before.

“Just so you know, this is not a declaration of war on _our_ side, although you seemed to be quick to do so on yours.” The voice continues, as a black cloaked figure jumps from one of the chandeliers that hung high above the entrance.

Should he maintain his bluff? Even if she _is_ a god, that does not necessarily mean that she knows who he is. He is, at this moment, Odin.

“State your business.”

“Business? You speak as though you do not remember me, although… you most certainly do.” She teases.

“What do you want?”

“Is that any way to speak to an old friend and possible love interest?”

His heart thuds in his chest, “L-?! What are you implying?!”

She chuckles as she lowers her hood, “Calm down, I’m only joking. Did you miss me?”

Passing a frozen guard, Branwen takes off her cloak and hangs it on the weapon, “Thank you dear.”

‘Odin’ widens his eye as he sees her thin, flowing, green tinged, white chiffon dress robe. The straps that rested on either shoulder were plaited, allowing the back to dip low. Her shoes were knee high golden laced, heeled sandals – exactly like the ones he saw her wearing as a burlesque dancer. Her hair was half down, curled into ringlets, the part that was up was braided around the top of her head, like a crown or wreath. Resting on her forehead was a silver circlet, and of course on either side of her ears, raven feathers. Other than her outfit, she looked exactly the same, a little more mature, but still the same – yet somehow different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Seeing something other than Branwen walking toward him, he glances to the walls. Ivy crept along behind her, like a shadow, following her every movement. Every occasional interval, a purple flower would bud and bloom. Stepping over the collapsed and unconscious men on the floor, Branwen stops at the steps of the throne.

“I would offer you another dance, but there’s too many corpses to trip over.” Branwen bows extravagantly. “I am here to greet The Mighty Allfather, Odin, and apologise for any and all transgressions I have made upon Midgard under his protection.” She kneels down, yet instead of lowering her head, she looks up at the man sitting on the throne. “…That is to say… if you are, in fact, Odin.” She announces with a challenging grin. “Didn’t I say? I know when things are an illusion, Loki.”

Illusion wavering, he lets it go, showing his true visage. “How long have you known?”

“Since the beginning, on Earth. I’ve been watching you these past couple of days, you know.” She says as she sidles up to him, sliding her hands seductively over the cold stone of the throne he is once again sitting on. “It was annoying at first, not being able to contact you – and you ignoring my little hints… then I find you had been creating illusions of me.” Her hands stop, either side of the stone backrest as she stands behind him, bending over to whisper into his ear breathlessly, “…and what naughty things have you been doing to my illusion in the dark, Loki?”

He swallows, yet doesn’t say a word. Has her breath always been this warm? He can’t recall. Her voice is usually in his head.

“Oh, and don’t worry about them,” Branwen indicates to the men laying on the ground “it’s only paralysing poison. Your faithful subjects will live.” She looks to the guard with daggers in his back, “Well, apart from him. Anyway, I just thought we could talk in private, with no interruptions.”

Another guard rushes in to tell Odin about the sleeping spell placed upon the city, yet sees Loki on the throne rather than The Allfather. “Oh, I missed one.” Branwen clicks her fingers and he explodes, showering the stone with his liquefied state. “Can’t have him telling everyone when they wake up what he has seen… Sorry, was he important?”

“You have a point, and I never liked him anyway. He was the one that started the rumours.”

“Why did you let him live?”

He honestly had no answer. The old Loki would have most likely killed him on the spot.

“You know, you’ll never get those blood stains out.”

“I have some questions, if you would be so kind as to indulge me.”

Branwen’s mouth widens to that of a sleazy grin, “I would, definitely.”

Loki bites the inside of his lip. He had forgotten a lot of her flirty nature, and he hadn’t felt a woman’s touch since their last kiss… ‘ _Focus, man!’_ Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he began to ask questions.

“Where have you been?” The immediate question that rolled off his tongue.

“Home.” Was the only curt answer she gave, expression unreadable, much like the time she spoke about her parents when they were hunting Sloth.

 _‘Something is definitely off.’_ Loki thinks, eyes narrowed, yet continuing with the inquisition.

“If you are so powerful, why could you not defeat more than one sin at a time?”

“Well, I was at a bit of a disadvantage. You know, the whole Pandora’s Box in my chest – spreading like poison, sapping my strength, and slowly dying, thing.”

“I assume my speculations of the glass vial were correct?”

“It was for you to think upon first impression, that I am but a human, incapable of such tricks such as illusions unless I have the help of alchemy.”

“I’m surprised you remember so far back.”

“And I’m surprised you still get flustered when you think about ‘The Exotic Knife Thrower.’”

Loki clears his throat and shuffles in his seat.

A mischievous grin spreads over the whole of her face “I could never pass up such an opportunity.”

Ignoring the heat threatening to rise to his face, he stares pointedly into her eyes, “You agreed you were human.”

“No, I didn’t disagree that I was human, but I didn’t agree either.”

“So, you lied?”

“I didn’t lie, I just avoided certain truths to manipulate you.”

A deafening hush fell upon the room. He wasn’t mad, he just wasn’t sure how to respond. After all, it’s what he intended to do and did, initially.

“Well, anyway.” Branwen spins carefully on her heel.

Noticing her movement seemingly impeded, Loki stops her from leaving. “Wait.”

“What?”

Seeing many prisoners, and once one himself, he has come to know very well the walk one does when bound, yet he cannot see why she would be moving as such. “Why are you moving like that?”

“…Like what?”

“Like you are bound.”

“Do you want me to be? With rope, perhaps?” She winks. The shackles tighten in warning, and Branwen winces slightly in pain before standing straight once again.

Loki stands from the throne, now more suspicious than ever, taking two paces forward and down the steps, he now stands before her. Narrowing his eyes, he stares into hers, searching. Her smile is teasing, yet her eyes seem to be begging.

“What exactly happened when the light took you? What happened when you were home?”

Branwen’s eyes dart around the room. “I… saw my family.”

“You cannot say anything more, can you?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Branwen replies flatly, staring unblinking into his emerald eyes.

Yet another silence descends as they stand face to face, as if in a staring contest, waiting for the other to look away. Branwen’s face breaks into a gentle, and kind smile. The same smile she showed him the day she died.

Loki is the first to break the silence, “No, don’t you dare smile at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to do something stupid.”

She smiles at him again, before parting her lips to speak, “Loki, I… mrph?!”

Pressing his right hand tightly over her mouth, he talks over her. “I said, no.” Feeling her grin against his palm, and seeing her eyes glitter, he could only guess that she was thinking crude. Ignoring this fact, he runs his spare hand gently over her left wrist, to see if his assumption was indeed, correct. Branwen squirms a little under his touch, as she mumbles against his hand, trying to talk.

“Have patience.”

She raises an eyebrow as she snorts a laugh.

After much caressing, Loki finally speaks. “You are imprisoned, aren’t you? Some kind of magic binding that I cannot see…” upon saying so, golden shackles glimmer and gleam upon her wrists, ankles, and neck, showing themselves to the one whom asked. A golden chain also gleams, wrapping itself around the length of her body, and to each place bound. Removing his hand, he takes a step back to inspect her. “The crime must have been grave.” He says in a false grim tone, not being able to hide the grin from playing on his lips.

“Are you thinking naughty thoughts, Loki?” She teases, finally being able to talk.

“Maybe I should lock you in the cells.”

“Maybe you should.”

They both grin playfully at each other.

“You know I would break out.”

“I don’t doubt that. I suppose if you mention anything about your sentence, it causes you death?”

Branwen keeps the grin on her face.

“Thought as much.” Loki steps up to her once again, running his hands along each shackle, looking for something that may resemble a keyhole.

“Having fun?”

Loki smirks. Should he tease her, like she teases him?

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Branwen glares, reading his expression.

He smirks once more, contemplating that thought, when a glimmer catches his eye. Tilting his head, he touches where the chain joins to the shackle on her neck. It reacts to his touch, yet there is no way to open it.

“Ah.”

“What is it?”

“I’m unsure of your crimes, however…”

“However is good.”

“…however, I have had to pass judgement on many people, for many different crimes. Those whom have wronged another, are generally made to be judged by those they have wronged. Meaning, as the shackles showed themselves unto me when I asked, it is possible that it is I who need to judge you. If it is to do with your crimes on Midgard – Earth – your imprisoners may have taken it to mean you have inconvenienced another god, namely myself.”

“…okay…”

“As previously stated, I am unaware of your crimes, so I can only judge you on your current transgressions.” Loki looks around the throne room at the incapacitated guards and the vines upon the wall. “Death or life imprisonment is what a King would give.”

Branwen swallows. Will he continue to be Odin, even in this sort of situation? Will their time together mean nothing? She never got the chance to tell him…

Loki sees the panic flicker across Branwen’s face, before it settles upon resignation. She has no idea of his feelings for her, even after so long. Why would she? He never gave any inkling. Does she flirt with him because she cares for him? Or would she flirt with his brother also?

“There is, however, another option… but I am sure you will find it to be more displeasing than the others.”

“And that would be?”

 There was something sexy about the way she clenched her jaw, expecting the worst possible outcome, her chest rising up and down, the golden chain moving and falling with every inhale and exhale as it wrapped around and seemingly accentuating the curves of her body. _‘Plenty of time for wild thoughts later, focus! Put her out of her misery.’_

“A peace offering.”

“A…what?”

“You. A peace offering to the god you inconvenienced.”

“And by that you mean…?”

“I, Loki of Asgard, condemn Branwen of Olympus to a life of servitude…”

Branwen snorts.

“…as my wife…”

“Eh?!”

“…and therefore will be freed from her shackles and replaced by that of a promise and a ring.”

The golden chains shatter as the shackles swing open. Branwen rubs her wrists as she stares at Loki openly and uncertainly. What does this mean?

“I- you- what just happened?”

“This is a better way, no? You will be bound to me, compelled to do what I ask of you.”

“You do realise, I probably wouldn’t have a problem with anything you ask or do.”

Loki shrugs nonchalantly, yet with a small smile pulling at his lips and betraying his true feelings, “This is easier.”

“…I can think of worse fates, I suppose… but… how will this work as you as Odin?”

“You are bound to me in any form.”

“You’re pretty insecure, you know? You needn’t a promise and a ring to make me follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“We aren’t on Earth.”

“It’s a figure of speak, you dummy.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> If not gathered already, my character Branwen Merla (although named after a Welsh/Arthurian legend), is the daughter of Artemis and Hermes... for this story, anyway. Zeus is the Judge.


End file.
